


i fight you, i fight myself

by rivieraviews



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: African Literature, Bast - Freeform, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Chinua Achebe, Gen, Hanuman - Freeform, I set out to write something a little different but M'Baku caught me in his trap and here we are, Literature, M/M, Origin Story, Original Characters - Freeform, Political Alliances, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Canon, Pre-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Canon, Tribal Council, father/son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivieraviews/pseuds/rivieraviews
Summary: T'Challa raised his brows, as if impressed, and replied, "Ah, Chinua Achebe? That is one of the great African novelists of our time."





	i fight you, i fight myself

M'Baku knew it was considered a great privilege for the Jabari to finally be recognized as part of the Tribal Council of Wakanda and was proud to represent his people in a way they had never been before—but he couldn't help but think, as he got up in the early hours of dawn to prepare for his long trek to the capital, that it was both a thankless and tedious job.

As leader of the Jabari, it was true that he shouldered most of the blame when things went wrong, but not much of the praise when things went right. He was sure he was not the only one who shouldered this burden in a world so large as this, but at times it was hard for him to accept the place he now occupied. He had always been a fighter, a warrior, but it was different when one represented not only themselves but also their people. In battle he had been a nimble warrior, swift and strong, quick to take over against his opponent. But in a war of words, M'Baku was a novice yet.

Secretly, he longed for those days of his youth when he and his father would hike down to the waterlands that grounded the mountains of the Jabari Lands and camp for days. At home in Gorilla City, M'Baku had felt disconnected from his father, M'Buriye. Where M'Buriye was large and announcing, M'Baku was quiet and shy, still growing and embarrassed of all the attention he received because of his large stature, desperate to hide in the shadows or behind his father's cloths. 

On those trips, beginning from age ten, M'Baku had learned from his father how to fish, how to carry a spear, how to carry himself. M'Buriye was determined to teach his son whatever he could, as fast as he could. And to M'Baku, it seemed that there was no shortage of Chinua Achebe quotes for his father to relay to him. Over the years, this had become a running joke between the two, although M'Buriye maintained his reverence for Achebe, and encouraged his son to seek his writings out.

Once, when they had been sitting in their small boat, fishing lines hanging off the sides, they became distracted with simple conversation: of M'Baku's schooling, his non-existent teenage love life, the acne that persisted on his back despite the numerous topicals he had tried, and so on. Suddenly, they were quite literally shaken out of their mindless discussion—their small boat had begun to rock, their fishing lines unravelling at an unmanageable rate. M'Buriye, who had relieved himself of his fishing line a while before and had instead given it to his son, sat back and watched in amusement as M'Baku struggled to reel the lines in and catch the fish. In the end, he lost one hook, but managed to recover the other, capturing a decent-sized fish.

"Well, at least we can make a stew with this one, adding some vegetables to thicken it up. We will go find some before sundown, but remember this, child, when we are comfortable and inattentive, we run the risk of committing grave injustices absentmindedly. You already know, it is a Chinua Achebe quote, no? What do you say to that?"

M'Baku had laughed boisterously in reply, for indeed his father had succeeded in making him comfortable enough to be loud and unashamed in his own presence at that point. "Father, you cannot be serious, we are just fishing. This is not an important political matter, o."

M'Buriye had pointed up at the sky, and then at his son, and half-jokingly said, with laughter in his voice: "Every generation must recognize and embrace the task it is peculiarly designed by history and by providence to perform. Another Achebe gem for you, my son. Today, we are fishing. Tomorrow, you are leading a people, eh. Look at Hanuman and his bountiful blessings. We are His chosen people."

M'Baku, fresh out of wit, had just snorted and shaken his head in mock disbelief. _This guy_ , he thought, all the while his chest felt like it was going to burst with a matter so warm and viscous it felt like honey.

His father was gone now, of course, and had been for a while. And yet, the warmth in his chest persisted, and with it came an additional overwhelming feeling of pride and respect. M'Baku knew now what he did not know then: that like all fathers, M'Buriye had been trying to prepare his son for a world that did not exist yet, instilling in him the values and skills he thought necessary for survival. That, and an Achebe quote for every single situation possible.

Though, to be honest, he was sad to admit that his father had somewhat failed to achieve that last one—M'Baku consulted his handed-down Achebe novels quite often when he was seeking familiar wisdom.

*

When M'Baku and finally arrived at the capital later that day, he was unsurprised to find that he was last to walk into the throne room. He supposed this was the way it would be unless the Almighty Hanuman decided it would not be so any longer and bestowed a geographical miracle of some sort upon the Jabari Lands. (That was a joke, though perhaps it could use some polishing from Shuri, for she was more experienced in matters of geography, physics, and general science beyond his basic education level.)

As M'Baku made his way to his seat, he felt a palpable tension in the room between W'Kabi and T'Challa. Had T'Challa still not forgiven him for betraying the throne, although he had been presumed dead? Truly, the people of Bast could hold grudges like no other. M'Baku was glad he had not crossed him, for now he was in a position with the Wakandan monarchs even his father could not gain. He turned to Okoye, standing at attention next to T'Challa's throne, and gave her a questioning look, as if to say, _What in Hanuman's realm is going on now?_ Okoye, of course, gave him a deadpan look, feigning ignorance. She was not one to betray her lover, doubly her King. She stood straight, straighter than before, which M'Baku had previously thought impossible, and tapped her spear twice on the ground. The Dora Milaje behind her followed suit. Almost immediately, chatter ceased.

"Well, since every tribe is represented, I suppose it is time to start the meeting. There is no need to stall, and certainly no need for frivolities. Chief W'Kabi, please inform the council of the border situation," Okoye announced.

W'Kabi cleared his throat and stood, "Your Highness, our rhinos have been attacked by unknown invaders while resting. Non-vibranium bullets were used. Border Patrol is requesting that we are allowed to circle up to fifty kilometers outside the borders so as to, Bast Willing, capture the offenders."

T'Challa turned to M'Baku and nodded discreetly, as if to ask for his input. M'Baku shifted in his chair—he was not used to such stiffness and formality, and was still working on his diplomatic skills.

There had been a beat of silence as he had pondered over what to say, wracking his brain, until finally, he remembered something his father had told him as a teenager. "O, it is my belief that a man who makes trouble for others is also making trouble for himself," M'Baku offered.

T'Challa raised his brows, as if impressed, and replied, "Ah, Chinua Achebe? That is one of the great African novelists of our time."

"Indeed, Your Highness. My father was a big fan," M'Baku chuckled softly, reminiscing. "I believe it is in the greater interest of Wakanda and the Jabari Lands to indulge Chief W'Kabi in his request."

T'Challa nodded in approval. "Lord M'Baku presents a valid point. And so it will be. General, you will join Chief W'Kabi."

And so the Tribal Council proceeded, with little more input from M'Baku. (He thought the running of government in Wakanda truly was incredibly detail-oriented, and—Hanuman forgive him for he knew it was his lot in life and he was sure it was much better than the lot of others—skull-numbingly boring.)

 *

Finally, the Tribal Council came to a close, and the elders were dismissed. M'Baku was pleased to discover it was still so early in the afternoon that he had time to take a walk downtown and see the city and its people bustling under the midday sun—a sight uncommon in the Jabari Lands, where most of the meeting points were underground or indoors, away from the cold weather. Although the Jabari boasted about being accustomed to the cold, it was for the most part mere bravado—they were still human, and humans did not favor extreme weather conditions, whether hot or cold. He looked forward to baking in the hot sun in one of the many public parks—maybe he would take a nap, or maybe he would take another crack at _Things Fall Apart_. It was M'Buriye's favorite Achebe, and M'Baku enjoyed pouring over his father's notes and musings in the margins, wondering if he had foreseen these moments in his son's life: a people formerly exiled from Wakanda, self-imposed or otherwise, now reveling in its pleasures.

M'Baku rose from his daydream to find himself still sitting in his seat, but now with T'Challa to his right, peering at him with an amused look on his face. "I guess it makes sense, since you are of such a large stature, that you find yourself lost in the clouds often, Lord M'Baku."

"I suppose so, Your Highness," M'Baku responded, and after a thought, added, "though if you are going to remark upon my stature, I find it only fair that I would be able to comment on your slight frame."

T'Challa gave a snort. "It is a gift from Bast, a blessing. You must have forgotten, this lithe little man beat a certain someone on Challenge Day." Now he was teasing.

"O, what shall Wakanda do without Your Humbleness, King T'Challa," M'Baku all but shouted—everyone in the room turned to look. Seeing the embarrassed look on T'Challa's face, he burst into his signature laugh and reached to pat T'Challa's shoulder, laying it to rest there.

"You have come with jokes, ehn, M'Baku?"

In a voice out of breath from laughter, M'Baku whispered in T'Challa's ear, "Forgive me, brother, the jokester in me cannot help himself. You rubbed my wound with salt and I am a prideful man!"

His breath was hot on T'Challa's cheek, and as he moved his face away, his face broke out into a wide grin, showing the gap between his teeth. He felt a familiar honey-golden substance fill his chest with warmth.

T'Challa eclipsed M'Baku's hand on his shoulder with his palm. "I am glad you and your people have finally joined us, Lord M'Baku. For too long the Jabari people have been excluded, due to personal and extraneous issues independent of the greater Wakandan interest. Your presence has been missed."

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "pray for me" - kendrick lamar, the weeknd (from the black panther soundtrack).
> 
> thanks so much for reading. i haven't written fic in a while so i'm very rusty. i would appreciate any feedback.


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